love is a sight.

when you're around, his stomach doesn't flutter. his palms don't sweat. his head doesn't spin. his heart would melt. his blood would warm knowing it's safe. his feet would brush yours under the sheets early in the morning. his legs would tangle with yours with the blankets. he would crave. his hand would search for you in the dark. his lips would sigh your name against your shoulder.

my dear little wildflower. so flawless as ever. doodles on their hands. soaks in the sun whenever sad. puts on their already tied shoes. a moon lover. a good lover. car lover. fun lover. pet lover. cute lover. food lover.

there's no falling in love. there's just love. love that precedes us with flying colors to put rainbows to shame. no rain needed at all. with the one flying at this moment is the frosting thrown by you, smacking him dumb on the face.

mouth agape. eyes wide. shooked.

huffing, he grabs a fistful of the disfigured mortified sprinkled vanilla-looking cake that is accidentally pineapple flavor thanks to him, unapologetically and throws it at your face — payback.